Guard Dog on Duty
by Aurora Ilvento
Summary: Riana has a secret boyfriend, Matt, who sometimes sneaks in during the night. But one day, as Matt tries to get to his beloved, he gets a nasty surprise – a very pissed off Riggs.


A slight noise startles Riggs awake. For the first confused seconds he doesn't know where he is. He's lying on a soft surface, covered by both sheets and a blanket.  
 _Huh. That's weird._ He seldom bothers with blankets and doesn't even own sheets. Then it comes back to him: Yesterday evening he and Roger have finally wrapped up a stressful and lengthy case after days of searching for the motive, the means and, eventually, the perp. Afterwards they have retired to his partner's house to decompress, and warm up some leftovers. The case has left Roger beat. Even Riggs has been feeling the strain, so when his partner suggested he stay the night instead of driving all the way out to his trailer he gladly accepted. And that's where he is right now, in his partner's house, in the storage room where the Murtaughs put up a bed for him for occasions like this. He deeply appreciates the gesture and the sleeping place that comes with it, especially since the bed is much more comfortable than his sagging old couch.  
Being able to stretch out is a nice change, but sleeping in a house with so many people living in it took some getting used to. The storage room is on the ground floor, right next to the laundry room-cum-guest bathroom, and therefore some distance away from the upstairs bedrooms, but he can still hear them moving about – floors creaking, doors opening and shutting in the middle of the night as someone tiptoes to the bathroom or to the kitchen for a midnight snack. His mind has learned to blend out those small nightly sounds, so they no longer rouse him. The noise that woke him must have come from outside then – his instincts warning him about a potential intruder. Cracking open an eye, he listens hard. It seems to be gone now. But he knows better than to lower his guard and stays vigilant. Roger and his family have invited him into their home and he intends to repay their kindness by keeping the house safe. It's a bad world out there, after all. So far, the Murtaughs have been lucky and it'll stay this way, if he has any say in it.

There it is again, louder now – a furtive clattering at the laundry room window, like someone's trying to get in. Riggs is instantly wide awake, on high alert and _pissed_. The idea that someone might want to rob the Murtaughs – or worse – makes his hackles raise. He might not yet be able to accept that they're his family, as they claim, but they're definitely his to protect.  
Silently he slips out of bed and into the next room, where he conceals himself in the shadow behind the shower stall. Waiting for the chance to attack, he watches a not very big male climb through the window. As the would-be perp passes him, he grabs him and slams him against the wall. The person lets out a frightened yell in an unexpectedly high voice, but Riggs ignores it and presses his forearm against the stranger's throat. Leaning in close, he growls, "The fuck do you think you're doing?"  
The man's – though he is really more a boy, Riggs notices – eyes are wide and he doesn't answer, too shocked at being caught.  
Before Riggs can use his training to convince the intruder that he better talk, the laundry room door swings open as Trish and Roger appear to investigate the commotion, closely followed by RJ. For a few seconds they can only stare, their sleep-addled brains unable to comprehend the scene in front of them: Riggs, half-naked and crazy-haired, is menacing a frightened teenage boy.  
Then Riana stumbles around the corner, blearily rubbing her eyes.  
"Do you guys have to be so loud? I'm writing a test in the morning." She stops abruptly as she sees the kid. "Matt?"  
Riggs lets go abruptly. Rubbing his abused throat, the boy tries to step toward her. Riggs makes a warning noise in his throat and Matt immediately shrinks back against the wall.  
"Down, boy," Roger says, only half joking.  
Riggs shoots him a look that tells him he doesn't appreciate his humor right now. Roger ignores it and turns to the stranger, "What's going on here? _Who_ are you?"  
Both Riana and Matt take this as a prompt to start talking at the same time, spouting explanations and excuses, until the baby starts crying upstairs.  
"Stop it, both of you!" Trish has enough. She sends RJ to look after Harper and ushers the others into the dining room for an impromptu family conference.

Everyone is gathered around the dinner table. Well, almost everyone. While Trish and Roger are looking sternly at the two delinquents sitting across from them, Riggs is prowling around the room, still clad only in his boxers. It annoys Roger that the man has no sense of shame.  
"Goddamn it, Riggs. Were you raised by wolves? Put some clothes on!"  
The other man looks down on himself in surprise. "Why? I'm comfortable with my body."  
Roger is speechless at that. Though Trish doesn't mind either – Martin sure has a fine body, lean and well-muscled – she jumps in to help her husband. "But you're making Roger uncomfortable. So will you please get dressed?"  
His wife manages what Roger has not: The stubborn Texan leaves to get his clothes. Roger has noticed this before – his partner is always more inclined to listen to Trish than to him. He makes a mental note to ask her how she does it. Maybe there's a trick to it. Then, with a start, he notices something else: His teenage daughter is gazing appreciatively at his partner's retreating form.  
"Riana! You're far too young to be looking at men like that."  
The girl rolls her eyes. "It's not what you're thinking, dad. I was just admiring his ink. You know, getting inspiration for my own tattoo."  
Her father is about to protest, but Trish, deciding to focus on the task at hand, interrupts him. "Back to you, young man."  
"Yes?" In contrast to Riana, who looks rather impenitent, Matt is huddled in his chair with his shoulders hunched.  
Trish steeples her fingers. "Besides the fact that we've forbidden our daughter to bring boys into her room – and I'm sure your parents haven't allowed this either – that was a very stupid and dangerous idea. Riana's father is a cop, what do you think he'll do when he suspects a burglar in the house? And Martin," she gestures at the doorway the man in question disappeared into, "well... you've already seen how _he_ takes care of intruders." She shakes her head. "What were you thinking?"  
"We weren't thinking anything, we just–," Riana starts to explain, but her father cuts her off.  
"That's right, you weren't thinking." He exhales slowly. "But _I_ think we'll have to have that talk again. You know, the one with the birds and the bees who always use contraceptives–"  
"Dad!" Embarrassed, Riana glances at Matt. _Not in front of my friend_.  
The conversation has veered off topic again and it's already way past midnight. Trish decides to take charge, for otherwise they'll sit here till sunrise. "Never mind that for now. We'll talk about this tomorrow. Now off to bed, young lady."  
"But–"  
"I said now." Trish insists, using the calm but firm tone she has perfected over the years. It hasn't failed her yet, and doesn't now: With a huff of annoyance Riana storms off.  
Trish focuses on the boy. He definitely looks familiar.  
"Matt Stuart, isn't it?"  
He nods with a guilty air.  
Trish congratulates herself on remembering all her daughter's class mates before continuing, "Tell your parents I said hi and that I'll call them tomorrow. I'm sure they'll be interested to hear what you get up to at night."  
Another meek nod, then: "Can I go now?"  
"Yes, I think we're done for now." Trish leans back and gazes at her husband thoughtfully. "We can't let him walk home, he's still a kid."  
"Oh, that's okay. I'll take care of him." Riggs is back, now marginally more clothed. He has put on his cowboy boots and a shirt that's hanging open over his chest, like he didn't want to leave the intruder out of his sight long enough to dress properly. And he definitely hasn't wasted any time on his hair: It still closely resembles a rat's nest. Now he starts to stalk towards Matt with predatory grace, who in turn looks at him with an openly panicked expression.  
Trish bites back a laugh and takes pity on the boy – after all, the former soldier can be pretty scary when he wants to be. "Martin, be nice."  
"Oh, I'm always nice." Riggs bares his teeth in a smile and claps Matt on the shoulder, eliciting a flinch from the younger male. "Don't worry, we'll get along just fine."

Watching the boy slink out through the front door, escorted by his partner, Roger sighs.  
"How the hell did this happen? It's like just yesterday she was my baby girl and now she's sneaking boys into her room and ogling goddamn _Riggs_."  
"They grow up so fast, don't they?" Trish leans into her husband, adding a sigh of her own.  
"Well, at least we know Matt won't try that again. Martin definitely scared him off."  
That reminds her of someone else, who was just as fiercely protective of them. She nudges her husband with an elbow. "Roscoe was pretty overprotective, too."  
Roger huffs a laugh. He's thought exactly the same thing. "At least Riggs doesn't bite."

It's a pretty uncomfortable ride for Matt, locked in the car with this mustachioed maniac without being entirely sure if he'll actually drive him home or into the wilderness to kill. He certainly seems capable of that. Riana must be deluded, because she clearly thinks he's a fun guy. The wild stories she sometimes shares with him are always told with an undertone of affectionate amusement, and Matt has been inclined to believe her. Meeting the man in person – an unkempt, tattooed redneck – has changed his mind, though. This guy's not rambunctious, he's dangerous, a killer. It's to his immense relief when they reach his neighborhood and finally pull up next to his parents' house.  
Figuring it's better to be polite, Matt mumbles "Thanks for the ride," before slipping out the door. He tries to make his escape, but the slam of the driver side door tells him he won't get away so easily. And sure enough, the creep is already standing next to him, tapping him on the shoulder.  
"Let me show you something." With startling swiftness he hops up into the bed of the truck, extracts a huge black rifle from a storage box and jumps back down. Matt takes a hasty step back, but the man simply presents it to him and says, "See this baby here? An absolute beauty, isn't it?"  
Not sure what he's getting at, Matt looks at the weapon and sees only a big-ass instrument of death. This thing, beautiful? He strongly disagrees, but it's probably unwise to say so – you don't argue with crazy. Clearing his throat, he offers a hesitant "Uh... sure."  
The madman grins proudly and continues speaking, all the while fiddling with the weapon, flipping switches and sighting along the barrel. It's obvious he's intimately familiar with it. "It's one of my favorite rifles, 'cause it's so goddamn accurate. With this I can hit a person in the head, or really any body part of my choosing, from hundreds of yards away. You wanna know what's even better?"  
This might be a rhetorical question, but Matt feels compelled to reply. "Sure."  
"They wouldn't even see it coming. And no one would know it was me."  
His voice has turned from happily unhinged to ice cold. Matt's starting to think this guy is not only killer material but _serial_ killer material when he adds, "Of course I wouldn't do that to a good person. But someone who, say, tries to hurt one of the Murtaughs might just wake up dead someday." He tears his eyes away from the rifle and pins the boy with a hard look. "You get my drift?"  
Matt swallows hard, then nods. "I do."  
"Great." The man flashes him an affable smile, suddenly all charm. "Just making sure. You have a good night now."

Satisfied with a job well done, Riggs stows his sniper rifle away and drives off whistling.


End file.
